


part of your world

by bloomsoftly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, MerMay, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/pseuds/bloomsoftly
Summary: Every day Darcy walks along the shore, desperately missing her best friend and hoping for change.Then a man washes up on the beach and, well— that isn't really what she meant, but she'll take it.





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sachertortes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachertortes/gifts).



> this was a tumblr prompt from [sachertortes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachertortes/pseuds/sachertortes) \- "Oh my god, you're in love with me!" 
> 
> I'm sad to say that it doesn't exactly fit the prompt, but by the time I realized my mistake I had already written ~6,000 words. I really, really have a hard time with moderation.
> 
> A million and one thanks to [Lil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Plebe/pseuds/Little_Plebe), who offered hours of love and encouragement, and who wasn't afraid to give me a digital smackdown when i felt like crying and giving up. ❤️❤️❤️

As she walked along the windy cliff path down toward the beach, Darcy cursed herself for what felt like the millionth time. She missed Jane like a phantom limb; there was nothing but bitterly cold air at her right-hand side, where the warmth of her best friend should have been. If she squinted out of the corner of her eye, she could almost pretend Jane was still there, laughing as their hair got hopelessly tangled in the gusty wind that blew in from the sea.

“We’ll never find husbands looking like this,” she would always joke, her hands trying to sort out the knots and tangles in a futile effort to look more presentable. Darcy had always let her own hair be; what did she care if no man was attracted to her? She had Jane.

Except she didn’t have Jane, anymore, and it was her own fault.

Six months prior, Jane had seemed skittish as they walked down a beach. Darcy teased her endlessly, trying to determine whether Mr. Foster had tried to arrange a match for his daughter—again—with a man at least forty years her senior—again. The last time he’d done so, Jane and Darcy had spent weeks causing mischief and mayhem until one day all discussions of the marriage had ceased. Secretly, Darcy had hoped that Mr. Foster had made such a mistake yet again, as things had become quite boring.

Reality was so much worse, not that Darcy recognized it at the time. Her friend had pulled her to a halt, huffing as she impatiently brushed her long hair away from her face.

“Darcy,” she said, staring her best friend straight in the eyes. “I met someone.”

Darcy blinked, then grinned widely. “ _Really?_ I can’t believe it! Who did you meet in our tiny seaside port who could possibly be worth your time, Janie? Not Mr. Coulson, surely? I know he’s a very nice man, but he’s older and he’s never seemed interested in anyone at all… Mr. Hogan? No, that doesn’t seem right—”

“Darcy. Darcy!” Jane shouted, pulling her friend’s attention back. “He’s not from Puente Antiguo. He’s a sailor,” she mumbled, losing her courage and breaking eye contact for the first time.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Jane’s eyes snapped back to Darcy, and her shoulders stiffened. “He’s a sailor.”

For the first time in a long time, Darcy was speechless. “But how does that work?” she asked. “If you’re here, and he’s always gone…”

“I’m going with him when he leaves,” Jane whispered. Her eyes pleaded her best friend to understand. “But, Darce, I’m sure you could come, too!”

“No.” Her best friend’s face crumpled at the rejection, but Darcy wouldn’t bend. “No, Jane, you’re not running off with some man you’ve never met. I know you’re lonely, here, so am I! But this is just ridiculous. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

Jane had said nothing. With a sad smile, she brushed some hair away from Darcy’s face, tucked her arm through the crook of her friend’s elbow, and guided them back along the beach.

She was gone the next day.

 

* * *

 

Now, Darcy walked along that stretch of beach every day, wishing she could go back in time to replace the last words she’d said to her best friend. If only she’d been more open, or asked questions, or _something_. Then, maybe she’d know her friend was safe and alive—and happy. Instead, she kept to herself and meandered along the sandy shore, ignoring the wind whipping her hair and the salty brine of the sea stinging her eyes.

She was so caught up in her melancholy that Darcy almost missed the body floating in from the sea. The dark blur in the water, which was frothy and agitated from an oncoming storm, the horizon dark and gray, swept closer to the beach with an oncoming wave. Curious, Darcy gingerly clambered up onto a nearby rock to get a closer look. With her hands shielding her eyes from the stinging drizzle, she was able to make out several pale limbs, cold and lifeless against the murky water.

For a moment, she hesitated. It was far enough out that she was worried about being pulled under, and she honestly wasn’t sure if the person was alive anyway. Maybe it would be best to run toward the town and let one of the aldermen know, rather than attempt to stage a rescue herself. It was likely too late, regardless.

But as she turned her back on the unknown, Darcy once again thought about Jane. Her friend’s beloved, or fiance—or even husband now, perhaps—was a sailor, wasn’t he? And Jane had gone with him. It could be Jane out there, even if the body looked too big. Or if not Jane, Jane’s sailor. Darcy would never be able to look her best friend in the eye again, if that was Jane’s lover caught in the tide. Waiting on a rescue, hoping for someone who would never come.

With that thought, Darcy slid gracelessly down the face of the rock, clumsily tying her hair back with the strip of tattered ribbon she kept around her wrist. A gift from Jane, fittingly enough. With a deep breath for fortitude, she waded into the water. Her breath seized, lungs frozen, and for a second she wondered how she was supposed to move when she couldn’t even feel her toes.

At that moment, though, the tide swept the body closer. The rain fell in harsh sheets, and she blindly groped for whatever part of the man’s body she could reach. Luck was on her side, and his, and she was able to catch hold of his unkempt and matted hair.

Wincing in sympathy at the sharp tugs her fingers made against his scalp, she looped an arm around his naked chest—now was _not_ the time for blushing—and fought against the raging current that pulled them this way and that. After what felt like hours of fighting against the tide, Darcy finally managed to drag them both ashore and collapsed onto the sand. For a long moment she only focused on her breathing, staring up at the stormy sky as she gasped for air.

The body next to her laid silent and utterly still. Huffing against the wet confines of her corset, Darcy twisted to her side and glared at the man’s prone form. He couldn’t be dead—not after all the effort she’d gone through to save him. With less than gentle hands she shoved his wet hair from his face, startling at the feel of flaps of skin on his neck. _Were those—?_

She leaned in for a closer look, but whatever it was she thought she’d felt was gone. His skin was pale, but unblemished—and rather more of it was on display than she’d originally known. A mortified blush spread across her cheeks and she averted her gaze as she realized that the man was completely unclothed.

Ignoring his nudity, Darcy shoved at the man’s shoulder to shift him onto his side. She had no idea what to do if he was dying; rescuing drowning sailors wasn’t exactly considered woman’s work. The man coughed and sputtered up water as he moved, saving her from her mounting panic. She froze, waiting for him to open his eyes and shout at her for ogling a naked, dying man. But although his breath rattled and wheezed with every rise of his chest, the man didn’t open his eyes.

“What am I going to do with you?” she wondered, pushing a stubborn strand of salt-ridden hair out of his eyes. Her companion offered no response.

 

* * *

 

 

As Captain Steven Rogers stared off at the horizon, he felt the last of his tattered and weary hope slip away. For over a year he’d combed every port and stretch of coastline in search of his missing best friend, to no avail. At first, the crew had been enthusiastic and determined, as loyal to James Buchanan Barnes as he. But as the months passed with nary a lead or sighting of his missing best friend, one by one they began to lose interest in the search. He couldn’t blame them, really, he knew that. Over a month they’d been at sea without even stopping in for supplies, and tempers were riding high.

Now, as a speck of land breached the horizon, hazy and dark in the distance, the simmering tension came to a head. Almost the entire crew was gathered ‘round, alternating between staring at their captain and the temptation of  rest, food, and supplies that lay ahead. No one knew what to say, until Clint Barton scrambled down from the crow’s nest and broke the wary silence.

“It’s no use, Cap. We’ve searched every single port from here to Kingston—some of them twice! Is it possible that Red Skull was havin’ you on?” suggested Clint, whose eagle eye had scoured ocean and forest alike for months in hopes of catching a glimpse of his captain’s First Mate. “There’s land ahead. Maybe we should stop and regroup, devise a new strategy.” _And leave the search for Bucky Barnes behind_ , he left unsaid.

Steve scrubbed a callused hand over his weary eyes and refused to answer.

“Not every port,” a small voice piped up. Everyone froze and turned to look at Jane Foster, the newest (and smallest) member of the crew. With sun-browned skin and an outfit that consisted of trousers and a man’s buttoned-up shirt, she was a far cry from the dainty, fragile woman who’d followed Thor Odinson to sea just over six months previous.

But her transformation was the last thing on Steve’s mind as he turned to pin Jane with an intense look. “What did you say?”

“We haven’t visited every port, Captain.” Bolstered by the silent support of her lover at her back, Jane lifted her chin and met her captain’s eyes. “It’s a long shot, I know, but I’m from a small port town we’ve not visited during the search. And Thor told me that you hadn’t traveled there before I joined the crew.”

Steve looked to Thor for confirmation, who squeezed Jane’s shoulders and nodded. “She speaks the truth, Captain. I met her in Freeport, remember? We were there about the lad—the one who claimed to have seen a Hydra flag while he was out fishing.”

That had been their last solid lead. “Aye, I remember the one you speak of.”

“When I met Thor, I was traveling with my father from a smaller port town a day’s ride farther north. He’s a scientist, you see, and—well, nevermind. The point is, I know for a fact there’s at least one port we haven’t reached. And if I know of that one, just off the top of my head, mind, there’s bound to be others. We shouldn’t give up hope, Captain.” Jane’s eyes met his, sympathy and reassurance shining in her gaze. He wasn’t worthy of the faith she had in him.

“Easy for you to say,” Tony muttered. “You haven’t been combing these god forsaken islands half as long as we—”

“Enough!” Steve barked, letting some of his frustration bleed through. The crew fell silent immediately, to his satisfaction. “Everyone to your stations. Jane, Thor, show me this port on a map.”

As everyone scrambled to do his bidding Steve momentarily turned his gaze to the horizon, hope burning fiercely in his chest once more.

 

* * *

 

Later, Darcy would never be able to recall how she managed to pull herself and the semi-conscious man all the way from the water. By the time they reached an abandoned shack down at the far end of the beach—belonging to an old fisherman who lost everything and walked straight into the sea, rumor said, never to be heard from again—her lungs were burning for air and her legs trembled with the effort of dragging the man such a long way.

Although the man was semi-conscious, he seemed almost completely unaware of his surroundings. It was a miracle he was able to move his legs at all. Yet, somehow, with one of his arms slung around her shoulder they were able to stumble and trip their way over rocks and sand alike to the little shack. Every now and then Darcy could hear him mumbling feverishly to himself, but the words were so soft she couldn’t understand a word he said. All she could hear was an uneven rumble; it might’ve been gibberish, for all she knew.

He fell completely silent once they reached their destination, his form heavy and awkward as she tried to maneuver him into the dusty bed. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest underneath the thin, scratchy blanket, she’d wonder if he was alive at all.

Darcy spent hours caring for the unknown man as best she could, amateur nurse that she was, but it wasn’t until there was a merry fire burning in the grate that he began to groan.

She looked up in surprise and concern, only to meet a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The intensity of his gaze was arresting, and she froze in the act of dipping a washcloth in the basin. After a moment of heavy silence, she found her voice.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” she asked as she raced over to the bed, uncaring of the water drops cascading behind her.

The man’s eyes closed on another pained groan, and she breathed easier with the reprieve. His face was flushed and his hairline was beaded with sweat, and yet he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. When he opened his eyes once more, her heart skipped a beat.

“N-no,” he muttered as she came closer. “M-m-monster.”

She frowned in confusion and a tiny bit of hurt. “Now listen here, mister. I know my hair’s a fright and I’m practically made of salt at this point, but there’re no monsters here.”

His head thrashed against the mattress. “No, no, no…”

Darcy worried for a second that he might turn violent, but the pain in his voice tugged at her heart. She couldn’t help but move closer, hoping to help.

With one hip perched on the edge of the bed, she pressed the soaking cloth against his forehead and made gentle shushing noises.

“Hush now, you’re alright. You’ll be fine.” To her surprise, he immediately fell quiet. Tenderly, she dragged the washcloth across his face and neck, wiping away the dried salt in that beaded his skin.

The deep lines around his mouth eased as he leaned his face further into her touch. His eyes cracked open a sliver, eyeing her with a clear gaze despite his evident fever.

Quick as lightning, he reached up and grabbed her wrist. Darcy muffled a surprised shriek, but all he did was cradle her hand closer to his cheek.

“Monster,” he whispered, his voice breaking halfway through. His gentle hold was a direct contrast to the harsh word.

“Shh, now.” As she spoke, Darcy shifted on the bed to make herself more comfortable. It was clear that he was slowly succumbing to his exhaustion, and she had no intention of disturbing him. “There’re no monsters here.”

In less than five minutes, the man’s hand dropped away from her wrist as he fell asleep. Darcy stayed close, caressing his cheek through the damp cloth. She felt utterly lost.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked again. Silence reigned as her only answer.

 

* * *

 

As the days passed, Darcy found herself whiling away more and more time in the little shack by the sea. As an orphaned, single woman well over a marriageable age, she had a lot of freedom in her movement, and she used that independence to spend almost all her days with the mysterious man who washed in from the sea.

The first week was spent nursing him back to health, treating all the old cuts and bruises that mottled his body. He was malnourished, too, so badly she could count most of his ribs. When she gathered the nerve to ask him about it, his reply was vague.

“Bad things,” he said. “Nightmares in the sea.” His gaze—always turned toward the tide—didn’t look like fear, though. It looked like a terrible, aching sort of longing. Darcy bit her tongue and didn’t say another word about it.

Once he could stay awake for more than an hour at any given time, she asked him for his name. A loud belly laugh was her answer, immediately followed by a wracking cough.

“James Buchanan Barnes, at your service. But you can call me Bucky, love. My apologies—been a long time since I spent time in the company of a lady.” Chuckling to himself, he muttered, “What a woman. Spends all her time healin’ and nursin’ a man, and doesn’t even know his name.”

He tucked a curl behind her ear as he spoke, though, eyes soft and sweet, so she didn’t take offense. When he trailed his knuckles tenderly along her jaw, the air between them shifted into a simmering heat. His eyes dropped to her lips, and his tongue darted out to wet his own. Then he blinked and pulled away, and the moment was gone.

Their days fell into an easy rhythm. Each morning, she brought him bathing water and marveled that his hair never seemed completely free of sea salt, and that he always faintly smelled of brine. They spent their afternoons teasing and talking and gradually sitting closer and closer together. And in the evenings he moved to sit out on the porch and admire the sunset, secretly watching over her as she made the slow trek back home.

The space between grew heavy with tender looks and feelings and all the things they didn’t say to each other. She caught him looking at her more often than not, something warm and melted in his eyes. He caught the way her smile grew brighter each morning as she opened the door and found that he was still there, waiting for her.

It had been a matter of months, but Darcy didn’t know what she’d do if he ever left.


	2. Found

“A storm’s blowin’ in, love,” Bucky observed, tearing his gaze away from the sun setting over the horizon to pin a worried gaze on her. “You be careful goin’ up that path, you hear?”

Darcy grinned. “I always am, Bucky. Don’t worry about me—I’ll be back in the morning as always. Some day you’ll be sick of me always knocking on your door.”

He snorted. “Not likely.”

Her breath caught at his answer, so easy and sure. On impulse, she gave proof to her feelings by leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his bearded jaw. He smelled of salt and the ocean breeze, as always; it was amazing how quickly she’d fallen in love with that smell. Just as quickly as she’d kissed him, she was overcome with embarrassment.

“Good night, Bucky,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders quickly—there really was a storm blowing in, and the wind was biting—she darted out the door without looking at him.

“Good night, Darcy,” she heard him answer, his awed voice punctuated by the slamming of the door behind her.

The entire way up the path, Darcy congratulated and berated herself in turn. She was happy to have finally addressed the attraction between them, but was suddenly plagued with doubts. Perhaps she’d imagined it entirely; it was possible the feelings between them were entirely one-sided. Or perhaps he only felt attraction. She wasn’t sure what would be worse, in fact—to know that he felt nothing for her at all, or to be nothing more than a pretty face, someone to pass the time with in hopes of something better coming along.

She really didn’t think Bucky was like that, though. And he’d never talked about moving on, or searching for an opportunity to find his way home, wherever that was. He still didn’t talk about it much. And the way he looked at her…

It felt like hope, and happiness. The kind she hadn’t felt since Jane went away. Stronger, even, because although her friendship with Jane was irreplaceable, her best friend had never stirred Darcy’s heart. Nor had thoughts of Jane ever kept her awake at night, desperately tempted to ease the pleasant ache between her legs.

A dark blur in the distance pulled Darcy from her distracted thoughts. The storm was visible now, dark clouds rolling in from the horizon. Wind pulled at her hair, darting this way and that, and a chill seeped into her bones. The evening was eerily reminiscent of the day that Bucky washed ashore.

She took another step before the object in the distance drew her attention again. She stopped and peered through her rioting hair—it was a ship, which wasn’t that unusual, but something deep in Darcy’s gut twinged with alarm. She had the irrepressible urge to travel back down to the beach, lock herself and Bucky into the little shack, and huddle under the blankets together until both the storm and the ship were gone.

She started to turn, caught between logic and intuition, and stumbled over a large rock. At that exact moment, a surge of wind shoved at her back. Without even the opportunity to scream, Darcy was shoved over the edge of the cliff and into the water with a mighty splash.

 

* * *

 

Thor watched his love as she pressed herself against the bow of the ship. Jane had practically plastered herself there ever since that morning, when the captain had announced they’d arrive to her hometown by sunset. Her gaze was an odd mixture of excitement and dread, and the dread seemed to grow stronger and stronger the closer they drew to land.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” he said quietly, moving up to bracket her with his arms. She leaned back into his arms without hesitation, then tilted her chin back to meet his eyes.

“I don’t regret it, you know that right?”

“I do,” he reassured, his voice nothing but a rumble against her back.

“I just… she didn’t understand. And if it had been her, in my place, I don’t think I would have either. I’d hoped—I just wish I could have her, and you, and the sea all at once.”

He chuckled. “Never one to ask for too much, are you, my love?”

But Jane was no longer listening. Instead, she was tearing herself out of his arms and spinning to face their captain. “Captain! Captain Rogers!”

Steve glanced over at her from where he was minding the wheel of the ship. “What is it, Foster?”

“Someone just fell off that cliff! I think—” she cried, then raced towards him as if she meant to steer the ship herself. Thor followed quickly behind, confused and worried.

“What is it, Jane?” Steve asked again.

“That’s the cliff Darcy and I used to walk along—every single day. And someone just fell off it. I think—please, I think—”

Without another word, Steve corrected his course. Staring at his distraught lover, Thor could only hope they made it in time.

 

* * *

 

Steve had never been one to turn away any of his crew when they were in need, and Jane Foster was no exception. The raw anguish in her voice had been too real, and he never even thought of ignoring her or dismissing what she’d seen. As much as he wanted to help her, however, the ship could only sail so quickly. To make matters even worse, they were entering shallow water and had to move carefully and slowly into the little bay.

With a quick analysis of the water around them, Steve barked, “Tony, you’re in charge. Foster, Odinson, lower the boat. We’re like snails at this pace, and we’ll get there faster if we row.” A flurry of movement followed his words, and the crew worked as fast as they could to lower the smaller boat into the water.

It took them over an hour to get to the spot where Jane swore she’d seen the person fall into the water, and daylight was almost gone. There was nothing to be seen, at first, and Steve watched as Thor prepared to console his distraught lover. Jane’s lip was bleeding, she’d been worrying it so hard, and Steve had no idea what to say in consolation.

Perhaps it hadn’t been Jane’s friend, or maybe there hadn’t been a person at all. But even as the thought crossed his brain, Steve knew it was a foolish hope. Soft and feminine she may be, but Jane Foster was not given to flights of fancy. The boat slowly glided to a stop as it became clear that there was nobody to rescue, and Steve floundered for something to say.

“No,” Jane begged. “Please. We can’t stop looking.”

Steve and Thor shared an uncomfortable glance, but a faint splash drew their attention before they could think of the right thing to say. “What was that?” Jane hiccuped, torn from her desperate search of the water around them.

Another splash, closer to the boat this time. Thor grabbed Jane’s arm, and Steve pulled a knife from the sheath at his ankle.

With a surge of water, something broke the surface. And then the ringing in his ears was so loud Steve couldn’t hear a thing. Because out of the water came a ragged Bucky Barnes—his best friend. His best friend, who’d been missing for over a year.

“Darcy!” Jane screamed, lunging toward the side of the boat and nearly dumping them all into the water. Thor reached to stabilize the small craft, while Steve stared—utterly dumbstruck—at the visage of his friend. “Oh my god, no. Darcy, no!”

Bucky, unaware of anything but the unconscious woman in his arms, looped one arm over the side of the boat. “She’s alive. If I hadn’t seen her fall in—” his voice cracked, and he paused, “—but I did. She’s too cold, and I can’t get her back to shore. Can you—?”

The plea for help snapped Steve back into action. He and Thor reached for the woman at the same time, hauling her over the edge. She was a pretty thing, even pale and cold and coughing up seawater, and Steve didn’t miss the way his best friend stared at her. Like he was a dying man, and she his salvation. When the woman was safely in the bottom of the boat and Jane was covering her with her coat, Steve returned his attention to the man still half-submerged in water.

“Bucky,” he breathed.

His friend’s eyes snapped to him for the first time. Joy and pain raced across his face in equal measures. “Stevie.”

“You’re alive? How—? What happened?”

“Respectfully, Captain,” Thor interjected. “Perhaps this conversation is best left until we’re back on the ship. Miss Lewis needs to be seen by our healer, and surely Barnes would be better off out of the water as well?” A strange expression—part amusement, part grimace—crossed Bucky’s face at the last part of Thor’s statement, but the other man didn’t notice.

“Right.” Steve picked up the oar and gestured toward the space next to Miss Lewis. “Climb in, Bucky, and we’ll get back to the ship in a flash.”

Bucky smiled sadly. “I can’t.”

 

* * *

 

When Darcy woke up, her entire body was stiff and sore. She wondered if she’d made it back down to the beach house, after all, because she was covered in Bucky’s scent. She was cold, though, and uncomfortable, and her bed was swaying side to side. The last thing she remembered was walking up the cliff—

With a gasp, she shot upright. She’d fallen in, and her last thought on the way down was that she’d be breaking her promise to Bucky, and how he’d _asked_ her to be careful, and now she was probably dead—

But this didn’t look like heaven, or hell, or any kind of afterlife. It looked like a ship. With creaky bones, Darcy levered herself over the side of the hammock she was laying in, ignoring the stiff and starchy feel of her dress. Slowly, with shaky legs, she made her way up the stairs toward the deck.

Outside was bustling with movement, even at the late hour. Stars shown brightly overhead, and Darcy could see the lonely lights of the little port town in the distance. And there, amongst all the bustling men and women on the ship, was Jane.

With a cry of relief, Jane launched herself at Darcy. The people around them paused their tasks to watch the reunion, not that either of the women seemed to notice. “Oh my god, Darcy—I can’t believe it. I was so worried! I saw you go over the cliff and we couldn’t get there fast enough and—”

“What happened?” Darcy asked, cutting her friend off.

“It’s crazy, but the first mate saved  you. How did you even meet Bucky, anyway? They’ve been searching for him since before I ever came aboard and he’s been missing for well over a year and they were talking about Red Skulls and something crazy about a curse, but he was there with you and the way he looks at you, Darce, it’s crazy and amazing and I want to hear everything—”

Darcy, whose brain was slow and sluggish from her near brush with death, frowned in confusion. “What? Jane, slow down. Who saved me? Why are you talking about Bucky?”

A tall, attractive man with eyes of steel and fire heard her question and stepped a bit closer. “Bucky Barnes is my first mate, Miss Lewis. He’s been missing for almost a year and a half, and we’ve been searching for him all that time. We tried to reach you after Jane saw you fall of the cliff, but Bucky got to you first.” He paused, then added gravely, “You have my undying gratitude, ma’am, for pulling him out of the water those months ago. He said you saved his life.”

She waved that away. “Bucky saved me? But where _is_ he? And what’s this about a curse?”

Everyone froze. Jane dropped her gaze, fiddling with her sweater, and the captain visibly wavered. As callous as it was, Darcy didn’t care about any of them at the moment. She just wanted to see Bucky. “Captain, you say you’re in my debt. Will you please lend someone to row me to shore?”

His gaze seared into her, weighing her worth. “Will it wait until morning, Miss Lewis?”

“With all due respect, Captain, it will not.”

A pause, and then he nodded. Something like approval flickered deep in his gaze. “Thor, please see Miss Lewis _safely_ to shore.”

“Right away, Captain,” said the big, burly man who’d been hovering behind Jane. So that was Jane’s Thor. She didn’t blame her a bit, Darcy idly thought. With a man who looked like that, she didn’t blame Jane for any of it. Especially now that she’d follow her own love to the ends of the earth, if only he asked.

“Darcy,” Jane murmured. “Can you forgive me? I know this isn’t the right time, but I’ve been thinking of you for months.”

With a sigh, Darcy folded her best friend into her arms. “Of course I forgive you, Janie. We’ll talk later, I promise. There’s just something I have to do first.”

Jane watched as her friend disappeared over the side of the ship, lowering herself  into the boat that waited below.

“I don’t think I can leave her behind again,” she murmured to herself, heart full to bursting.

A soft snort followed her statement. “I really don’t think that will be a problem,” Captain Rogers commented dryly.

 

* * *

 

The trip back to shore was silent, which Darcy appreciated. As much as she wanted to get to know Thor, for Jane’s sake if nothing else, her mind was completely stuck on Bucky. And to be honest, she wasn’t sure if it would be _un_ stuck anytime soon.

“Good luck,” the blond man whispered as Darcy clambered out into the shallow water. She smiled but didn’t reply.

Silence reigned as she waited for the boat to disappear into the night. For once, the night was quiet and still, save for the gentle sounds of the waves lapping at the shore. Nervous, Darcy turned to look at the little seaside house. It was dark and still, more devoid of life than she’d ever seen. For a terrible moment, she was afraid that Bucky had abandoned her.

A splash nearby had her whirling around.

“Bucky?” she called softly, wading deeper into the water.

“I’m here, love.” Pain and despair echoed in every syllable, and her heart clenched at the sound. She searched for him desperately, aching with the need to see him, heal him, and make them both whole. And then there he was, floating out in waist-deep water, his face pale in the moonlight. She waded out to him without hesitation. “Please don’t come out any farther. You’ve had enough close calls for one day, I think.”

“I’ve no choice,” she argued gently, “if you won’t come to me. I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“I can’t, Darcy. I can’t come any closer.”

“Is this about the curse?” Darcy asked, watching as he blanched with surprise and fear. “Show me.”

He didn’t move, so she did. Bucky offered no further protest, even when she was close enough to reach out and touch his bare skin. “No shirt,” she observed. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Darcy,” he pleaded, “won’t you please go back inside?”

“No. Show me, Bucky. Please.”

So he did. And once her hand was running over his tail and marveling at the disappearance of his legs, she looked back up into his eyes. His mouth was twisted, brow furrowed in the precursor to a flinch. 

“How often does this happen?” she asked. “I know for a fact that you sometimes have legs.”

“Every night,” he confessed. “I’m a monster.”

“You are not!” When he wouldn’t look at her, she pulled her pruny hands out of the water and slid them up his jaw. Eyes on his, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You’re just a really good nighttime swimmer, apparently.” He scoffed and tried to pull away, but she followed. When he realized how deep the water had gotten, Bucky pulled her tightly to him. Always keeping her safe, even when he was terrified out of his mind.

“Bucky,” she said, softly and seriously so he’d know she meant it. “I don’t care. I wouldn’t care if you were just a sailor who had a bad past or maybe lost some memory. I wouldn’t care if you were a mermaid… man… person… whatever… all the time, not just at night. You’re James Buchanan Barnes, and I love you. A tail and some gills does not change that.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“You idiot,” she chastised, slapping his chest affectionately. “What did you think all this was?”

His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her into his body. From this close, she could see the way his eyes glimmered in the moonlight. And then he was mouthing soft, sweet words along her jaw.

“I _adore_ you,” he confessed, brushing his mouth to the tender flesh below her ear. “I’ve been in love with you for months,” he murmured to the corner of her lips, pressing a fluttery kiss there. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” she promised, turning to kiss him fully. It was soft and cool and utterly perfect, with the smell of him in her nostrils and his fingers tangled in her hair. And then his mouth opened beneath hers, warm and searing and melting her from the inside out. They floated underneath the stars, tangled so closely together it was impossible to find where one ended and the other began.

“Stay,” he murmured again, once they’d broken apart to stare at each other, illuminated by moonlight.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she vowed. And true to her word, she fell asleep right there in his arms, floating along with the tide, trusting him to keep her safe.

 

* * *

 

When she woke up again, they were tangled together in the musty bed of the cottage. She was pressed into his chest, one hand buried in his hair and both her legs tangled between his. When she blinked open her sleepy eyes, the first thing she saw was his collarbone, bare and warm against her cheek. The smell of the ocean breeze filled her lungs, and out of curiosity she flicked her tongue against his skin. _Sea salt._

A groan escaped him, and he rolled them so that she was on her back. “You’ll be the death of me, my love.” 

She reached up to cup his face and declared, “Never.” Scratching idly at his beard, she wondered, “How did we get here?”

“You gave me my legs back, Darce.” And then he bent down to kiss her questions away.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.
> 
> i am taking prompts, and have quite a long list already, so if you're interested in submitting one (or reading them as I post!) you can find me on [tumblr](bloomsoftly.tumblr.com).


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